Love Story

My body has never been my body.It has been a bucket of asphaltupside down in the puerile wind.My horse faltered at the finish line.I whipped it and it plunged forth,like froth on the crest of a wave.My horse is my body: my body,my horse. Slick flank, waxenhair—do not bother to dothe math. My mouth is fullof epithet; my horse is fatand tame. Touch me.Announce yourself.Now is the heroic age.